


Bruce the /Bat/chelor

by Shameless_Cutie



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Affairs, Alternate Universe, Bruce Wayne is Not Batman, M/M, Sane Joker (DCU)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29566194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shameless_Cutie/pseuds/Shameless_Cutie
Summary: Alternate reality. Martha and Thomas Wayne are very much alive and Bruce Wayne grows up normally. Having a normal childhood, he enters the police force. However, this more laid-back and less confident Bruce still has a bit of a dirty secret.
Relationships: Batman/Joker
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	Bruce the /Bat/chelor

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is a really quick blurb just playing with the idea of a himbo Bruce. I wrote it in between homework, and although there is a little bit of an extra story I could tell, I doubt I will be extending this very much. 
> 
> Explanation with light spoilers- Bruce still has a strong sense of justice. His parents help him out with money, but for the most part he is pretty independent. Thomas Wayne runs Wayne enterprises, and doesn't plan on retiring any time soon. Alfred still did most of the fatherly work, and secretly sees himself as more of a respectable parent then Thomas. 
> 
> Jack is engaged to Jeanne, who is pregnant but he won't tell Bruce that. He also has a fling with a shy psychiatrist named Harley who he met after one of his comedy performances. His favorite affair however is of course with Bruce, who if he wasn't going to be a father soon, would seriously consider breaking up with Jeanne and trying his chances with him. Life isn't ever cut clean though. He breaks into his home regularly, though. In order to cope with his unsuccessful comedy career, he sells drugs back stage. Again, life isn't cut clean. 
> 
> I wrote this to be a little bit of a vent, a little bit of a comfort thing. It's mostly for fun. Enjoy and remember to comment and leave kudos!

“Oh Bruce.” Martha Wayne with thin eyebrows drawn up in concern scooted closer to her son on the couch, pulling his arm onto her lap. Bruce shifted uncomfortably, knowing better than to pull his arm back. “This is going to scar, isn’t it?” His wrapped arm laid in her lap, her dress acting like a sort of uncomfortable hammock. 

The man winced, his toes curling on the carpet as he formulated his response. His arm felt hot and tingly under the cast, and his mother’s loving, yet prodding touches weren’t helping. He couldn’t guess what the woman thought she was accomplishing. He settled with picking at the seam of the red upholstered couch to distract from the dull pain. 

“I don’t mind.” He responded meekly, “It’s my fault for taking off the guards before I left the kannine pen.” He was unable to keep his polite tolerance up when his mother pressed her fingers into one of the deep tooth marks on his arm, causing him to grunt in pain and return his cast to his side of the couch in an unconscious reaction. His mother looked briefly offended, but there was no time for a lecture, as the butler stepped into the light of the lit hearth. 

“It’s good to see you Master Bruce.” The butler moved elegantly as he placed a warm mug in front of him, and handed Martha a small stack of letters. “There is a thank you note from the Gotham orphanage in there, Madam. The funds have been transferred successfully. I’ve left the paperwork from the bank with Thomas.” 

Bruce took the handle of the mug thankfully with his good hand, the gesture being somewhat nostalgic. “Thank you, Alfred.” He was unable to hold back a gleaming smile as he greeted him. “It’s good to see you too.” 

“Pah-” Alfred’s aged expression turned into a mock of a frown. “Have you gotten used to making your own tea?” He teased. Bruce warmly laughed in response. 

“No, actually. I hardly drink tea anymore. The station usually has coffee already made.” 

This displeased the Butler. He clicked his tongue as he retrieved a short letter opener for Martha. She listened with a calm, humored smile. “A dignified man knows how to make a proper cup of tea.” Alfred placed an affectionate hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Don’t forget that you’re a Wayne.” 

“He’s been working hard.” The door to the parler closed softly with a click, and Thomas Wayne entered. His suit is prim and wrinkle free to the point where one would suspect magic. His greying hair was brushed off of his temples, which made it so all of the wrinkles on his face were present, consisting more of a worried forehead than laugh lines. Bruce noted with a soft sigh when Alfred quickly drew his hand away. “I’ll be the one in charge of scolding him when he needs it.” 

Alfred quickly excused himself, stating that he would be checking on dinner preparations. Thomas barely responded more than a curt nod. He approached his wife and son as they sat warming themselves by the hearth. He bent slightly to glance at the well maintained flames. 

“So- You got hurt?” The words demanded an explanation, although they were hidden under a layer of stoic ice. Bruce brought the tea in the mug to his lips to hide his nervous frown, gathering his confidence from the warmth on his face. 

“Yeah. The dogs that came in are still pretty young. Today we worked out some basic commands, but someone called an attack when I was out of gear. It was an honest mistake on all sides.” He stated, clearly and calmly. His liquid blue eyes with the glimmer of the fire in them were unable to meet his father’s. Instead they focused on his cufflinks, that glinted gold. The icon of a put together man. 

“I warned you about taking on field work. You have the connections to get to the special investigation department without climbing the latter. Why did you let Gordon switch you over to the kannine division?” He tossed a log in the fire, which caused the flames to crackle with a dangerous low tone. “We didn’t send you through school to get shot on the street. You told us you would be working in investigation.” 

Bruce swallowed his protest with a gulp of tea. His mother gently placed a hand on his lap, tilting her head so that he was unable to hide his face. He couldn’t tell them the real answer. It all came down to a conversation with Gordon, though. About where Gotham’s police force was corrupted. He told him he needed good men on the field, not behind desks. The resolve that lived in his gut felt like an undeniable pull. Justice, he felt, required action. 

“Investigation still ends up doing field work.” Bruce said quietly, watching the small tea leaves swirl at the bottom of his mug. “I still get to work on cases. The only difference is that I get combat and self defence training. I’m being paid for it.” He furrowed his brow. “Your influence isn’t going to get me appointed to sergeant detective one year out of college.” 

Thomas’s cold steel eyes invaded Bruce, made him feel small as he looked over the cast on his arm. He looked to his mother for support, but Martha’s pursed lips suggested she was quietly feeling the same way about Bruce’s decisions. 

He stood, to pull himself away from his parent’s heavy glares. “I should get back… Gordon only gave me the day off to recover.” He, standing now, knew his father was sizing him up. He felt his cold glare on the back of his head like a cat staring down a canary. 

“Alright then.” His father responded, unphased. “Make sure you keep in touch. Your mother worries more than I believe is healthy for her.” 

“A phone call now and then wouldn’t kill you.” His mother echoed, as Bruce quietly bade them goodbye and turned the corner out of the parler. His mug sat abandoned by Martha’s opened letters, quickly cooling. 

“Oh- Master Bruce?” Alfred waved him down before he could exit out of the front doors. He turned, anxious to leave but not unhappy to be stopped by the butler. “Won’t you be staying for dinner?” 

“No- I.” Bruce shrugged, sighing and shoving his hands in his jean pockets. “Sorry, not tonight.” 

Alfred nodded. “I completely understand. Let me at least send you off with a packaged meal.” The butler looked around, noting that they were alone before continuing, “will you need one or two?” 

Bruce uncomfortably rubbed the back of his neck. “Two would be great, Alfred.” He admitted. “Thank you.” 

\--------- About an hour later.

The insulated bag on his arm crinkled as he shoved open the door. It let out not only the delicious smell of home cooked italian food, but also steamed against the brisk winter air. He stepped inside with a grateful sigh as the building chased away the chill on his skin. His heavy boots were dusted with dirty snow, and left a footprint in the shape of his tracking on the carpet. He loosened the laces and kicked them away, letting them fall without grace in a pile. His heavy coat was thrown haphazardly on the back of a couch, and he noted with a soft chuckle that indeed, the lights were already on. A typical person would be anxious with the fact that there might be an intruder, but Bruce Wayne had become comfortable with the feeling. 

“Jack?” He called into the modestly sized house. He heard someone shifting in the room at the end of the hall. “That had better be you.” 

“It’s me.” Jack assured him. He came into Bruce’s field of vision with a blanket around his shoulders, as confidently as if he owned the house they were standing in. “That smells good. What are we eating tonight?” 

Bruce shot him a frustrated look as he passed by him to enter the kitchen, which was only met by a dopey, lopsided smile. The man under the blanket giggled softly to himself and followed. 

“Jeannie kick you out again?” Bruce muttered with a bit of a cold tone, setting the insulated bag on the kitchen counter. He turned and crossed his arms, leaning against the counter and raising an eyebrow at Jack. Jack balanced on one leg as he used his foot to pull up on his loose pajama bottoms, (which Bruce recognized to be his own) and scratch the back of his calf. He grinned at Bruce sheepishly. 

“... Yeah.” He admitted. “She uh- found something and got the wrong idea.” He shrugged, pulling the blanket up by his chin. “This time I swear it’s the wrong idea.” 

Bruce sighed, defeated, and turned to retrieve what they needed for a meal for two. As he listened to Jack’s explanation, he also plucked a protein drink from the fridge, too busy to mix his own these days. “What did she find?” 

“A pair of heels that weren’t hers.” Jack responded honestly, eyeing the pasta and vegetables as Bruce dumped equal portions. The man turned and wrinkled his nose at him in exaggerated disgust. 

“I thought you were done with Harley.” He snapped. “I’m surprised Jeanne didn’t break up with you over that. Between your affairs and your criminal record, i’m amazed she still said yes to your proposal.” 

Jack lifted his hands in a surrender, looking a little like a cheap ghost with the blanket draped behind him. “They’re not Harley’s either.” He scratched his chin. “They-they were mine.” He might have been blushing, but Bruce turned his back on him. “You know i’m not totally straight, Brucie. I thought maybe it would be fun to try some drag to spice up my act. Jeannie wouldn’t believe me though.” 

“I know you’re not.” Bruce grumbled, regrettably. As he cracked open the bottle of protein drink to pour into a cup, he was disrupted by thin arms and a blanket wrapping around his torso. Jack pressed his cheek to the man’s back, nuzzling him softly. 

“I’ll have to show you how nice I look with lipstick sometime.” Bruce felt a soft kiss against his spine. “Or you could see it while I'm on stage. Let your new doggie rip you up on a day where I have a show, okay?” 

Bruce looked down at the hands wrapped around his waist, and placed his hand over them. He couldn’t pretend not to see the silver band around his ring finger. He frowned, giving the thin arms a gentle squeeze before pulling them off. Jack complied, leaving behind one more light kiss before turning his attention to the plated food. 

“What’s its name?” Jack asked, hopping up onto a bar stool and digging in without asking permission. Bruce watched for a moment before sitting next to him and working on his own plate of pasta. 

“Who? The dog?” Bruce asked, gulping his drink almost completely in one go. “I haven't named him yet.” He switched ungracefully to his working hand, allowing the casted one to sit useless on the table. 

Jack hummed, shoving his stool closer to Bruce so that while they ate, he could link his ankle with Bruce’s. His plate clattered as he moved. “I like Ace.” He leaned on his hand, cheek in palm to smile at him. “Like in a deck of cards. My landlord won’t let me have a dog, so the name is all yours if you want to use it.” 

“Alright.” Bruce chewed thoughtfully. “I was thinking of ‘Bat’ but it doesn’t really roll off the tongue. He has big ears even for a german shepherd. Maybe it’s because he’s still a puppy.” 

“I like bats.” Jack hummed, pulling Bruce’s leg closer with his own. “They’re cute, but also kinda scary. It’s a good mix.” Bruce’s arm shifted to sit in Jack’s lap, the smaller man taking advantage of the fact that his fingers were still mostly useful, and linking his gently with Bruce’s. This was a much more comfortable position than earlier, physically speaking. 

They finished their meal without more useless smalltalk. As Bruce set their plates in the sink, he was again pulled away by thin arms. Jack licked his lips as he pulled the man in close, looking up into his eyes with dewy green emeralds. There was a pout on his thin lips. 

“I know you have work tomorrow…” He hummed, a soft childish whine growing in his voice. Bruce knew exactly what he wanted to ask. He hated when Jack forced him to close the gap like this. 

“...Jack- this is wrong and you know it.” Bruce looked down at the sink. 

“Do I?” the shorter man chuckled. “Ha- do you?” 

Bruce felt the pang of arousal as Jack slowly ran his hands down his back. 

“... What about?-” Bruce bit his lip, his hands finding Jack’s hips and staying there. “This is the last time, and i’m changing my lock and key.” 

“You said that last week.” Jack giggled, and pressed a kiss to Bruce’s throat. “You like that it’s wrong. I like it too.” 

Bruce cursed himself as he submitted to a kiss. 


End file.
